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|Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 5:08 am Post subject: Star Wars Writing
|“And forevermore, the reality of you shall be… Veritas!” he shuddered and woke from his restless sleep. Darth Afflige’s words, the beginning of his own transformation into a Sith Lord, he kept them close to him now. The reality of it was a small thing, the slightest thing. Veritas was a refugee of the Sith Empire, hiding on Coruscant under the name Dom Megask, a wealthy idiot with no occupation other than spending the considerable sum of credits he inherited. His master died a year ago, at his hand, because his master tried to end him. Veritas had proven ‘soft’ by the words of Afflige. His belief that the teachings of the Sith were misguided, that the softer, glader passions of the heart were a more sure source of freedom and power than the darker ones a heresy that the Emperor would never tolerate. For twelve years, he studied and endured what it meant to become Sith, but then Afflige decided that Veritas would never come around to what it truly meant to be Sith, and tried to kill him. The apprentice proved the greater, and thus became the master.
A Sith Master at the ripe, young age of thirty, Veritas had quickly come to the attention of the Sith Lords around him, some thinking him weak for his age and inexperience, others in awe of how much power it must have taken to slay the elder Sith who taught him everything he knew of the Force and of lightsaber combat. And through these attentions, had become aware of the plans of the Empire.
The truce with the Republic, and by extension, the Jedi Order, were of course temporary. Everyone in the Sith Empire, whether or not they belonged to the Order of Sith Lords, knew that. Veritas was certain that the Republic, and the Jedi also knew that. Three hundred years after the time of Darth Revan, the Empire of the True Sith returned, and were ground to a halt against the armies of the Republic and the Jedi, leading to a long, bloody stalemate that eventually called for the Third Correlian Treaty, which enacted the peace which Veritas knew for most of his lifetime. Veritas found this war pointless. Was the Sith not an idea? Why would an idea need to wage temporal war?
Peace is a lie. This was truth. Never in the history of the Galaxy, since beings were capable of rational thought, had there been peace.
There is only passion. And because of the ability to think, there was the ability to feel strongly. Passions were not evil, though. Passions were a great source of truth, a great source of self.
Through passion, I gain strength. Through realization of oneself, one gained strength.
Through strength, I gain power. And with that reality, one could alter the greater one.
Through power, I gain victory. And when finally the greater reality and the self were as one, progress could be made. The oppressions of the Galaxy could be fought.
Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. And therein was the failure of the Sith, as Veritas saw it. Freedom, they all stopped short of it. They all became slaves to power, to victory. The one true reality of the Sith was freedom. To Veritas, the liberation of beings, the true liberation, not be bound by foolish creeds or beliefs, was the truth of the Dark Side. Every being should realize itself fully, embrace what it truly is, and make its mark upon the Galaxy. The Sith instead aim to enslave others to fill their goals, the Jedi instead repress all beings to some ‘divine’ will of the Force itself.
No, the Sith was an idea, and ideas don’t wage wars. Ideas spread on their merits, and the Sith Empire knew naught of what it was sitting on. But now, more pressing than his ideological differences with his peers, did Darth Veritas contemplate what he had fled the Empire to do, but put off for so long. The Emperor was going to restart the war soon, but he would field a weapon unlike any other devised in the history of the Galaxy. A weapon of the Dark Side so terrible that Veritas thought it an abomination, and knew in his heart that the Jedi would not be able to stand against it. Trillions of beings would die, and so Veritas fled to tell his enemies that the greater evil would soon strike.
Yet, when he arrived, he found himself… afraid. The Jedi were his sworn enemies, on more than one level. He himself bore the Jedi Order no particular malice. They had never done him any wrong, and again thought the ongoing feud between the two orders a foolish one, but one does not sweep a millenia of bloodshed under the proverbial rug.
Besides, he rationalized, why would they believe me? And so he waited, he contemplated, and he lived among ordinary beings. He found the life… satisfying in a way that his life as a Sith Lord had never been. There was a strange fulfillment in the most mundane of things, and while initially it had been a struggle, after he acclimated to it, the lack of the Force was hardly a thing to be bothered by. Or rather, the lack of the use of the Force. It was with him, as it was with all living beings, always. And so he subsumed himself into the life of Dom Megask, he even went up to the Jedi Temple once, dressed as a tourist, and looked at it and thought “This is a fortress if I have ever seen one.” He had, at various points, contemplated finding one of the Masters who lived off world and trying to talk with them, but decided that the best way to be taken seriously was to speak with the Council itself.
And then he simply never did so.
He tried to rationalize his fears. He had no apprentice, so his beliefs on the Force could never be passed down. Yet he sought none, and thus negated that concern. He contemplated creating a holocron, but dismissed the idea. He needed more time to create true teachings. The Sith ways as they were could only be toxic to true revision. And so he dallied and delayed for twelve standard months, until he felt it.
A tremor in the Force. A river of the Dark Side so vast, it must have been the Emperor and the entire Dark Council. The invasion would come soon. So many would die. And it would be his fault. And so today, he had to do it. He could not trust the Council to have felt it, and even if they did, he could not trust that they knew what it was. How could they?
Darth Veritas put on the clothes of Darth Veritas, that morning. He put on the face of Darth Veritas, and wore the lightsaber he had not worn for so many months. And he went to the Jedi Temple before the sunrise.
The guards reacted amusingly enough. He counted no fewer than four blades leveled at him at any given moment. They took his sword from him, and they bound his hands and feet so that he could hardly shuffle. They shoved him in a holding cell that was actually more comfortable than some of the dormitories he had encountered on Korriban.
He lost count of time after a while. He needed to speak with the Masters. “What is your name?” he asked the guard, who was of a species he did not recognize, but seemed to articulate Basic well enough.
“You know mine, don’t you?”
The Jedi shrugged noncommittally.
“Darth Veritas. Pleased to meet you.”
His captor grunted. “Quiet.”
“Oh come now, if your Order is going to make me wait while I can’t even stretch, the least they could do is talk to me. Don’t you think there might be less killing in the Galaxy if beings would just communicate with one another?”
“How sentimental of you, Sith. Now. Be. Quiet.”
He sighed and leaned against a wall. “I thought the Jedi prided themselves on their diplomatic skills.”
The next guard was a young Jedi Knight, female human. Perhaps she would be more inclined to conversation.
“And has your Council decided to meet with me yet?”
She shook her head, “They will continue to meditate while you remain and your best behavior, Sith.”
He grunted, “Meditate on my motives? Really? I walked up to your front gate and announced myself, I turned myself in without a struggle, and your Masters think they need to consult the Force on whether or not I have some sort of trick up my sleeve? How utterly paranoid! I’d expect this sort of treatment from a fellow Sith, except they’d be polite enough to hide the fact they’re expecting a knife to the back!”
“And with that, you admit that you Sith are a treacherous lot.”
“Bah!” he threw his arms in the air, or tried to. His bindings did a great deal to limit his movement. “Will you at least tell me your name?”
He shook his head, “No manners, the Jedi Order! None of you!”
“We aren’t the ones who came back to the Galaxy and started killing people.”
“I haven’t killed any of your Jedi or Republic citizens, I’ll have you know!” he growled. “Blanket judgements are absolutes. I thought you Jedi stayed away from those.”
“You’re an expert on us, then?” her eyebrows peaked. “And what does the Sith know about the Jedi?”
“I know that you are an arrogant, unhelpful, paranoid lot that can’t accept a gift without checking it for traps!”
Delicious tea, or deadly poison?